Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks
Love you guys, even in those rare occurrences when I have to drop the hammer on you.
Moving right along:
The shit-talk from those booger-eatin’ Sabres fans has begun in earnest. Trolls have been getting banned left and right from the boards. The shitstorm in the unmoderated blogs is beginning to slowly pile up. Stan Fischler has started pillorying MY COACH for the sins of Don Waddell. Tom L. has been ganking and corpse-camping my happy Tauren ass in the Burning Steppes every chance he gets.
Not only that, but this one jackass from down in Fayettenam has decided to crawl back out from under the rock that he went under earlier this season and wave his gerbil-peen at me while proclaiming those motherfraggin’ Sabres to be Cup Champs already!
I’ve had it. I’m done.
I’M MAD AS HELL, AND I’M NOT GOING TO TAKE IT ANYMORE.
You! Hurricanes! I want you to drag those bastards down into the dirt and OWN them, right in front of all their asshat fans (who at this moment are below Red Wings Nation on my scale of fan-hatred). I want you to light Ryan Miller’s bony ass up like the frickin CHRYSLER BUILDING. I want BLOOD and GUTS and Daniel Briere getting tossed around like a rag doll! I want JP Dumont thrown to the Deadites! I want nothing less than VICTORY.
VICTORY OR DEATH! SCREW JUSTICE, I WANT A CUP!
Go Canes.
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